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Wipe My Mouth

“Wipe my mouth, please,”
asks the frail old man with a crooked, snaggle-toothed grin.
Responding; the adoring sprite smilingly grants his simple boon.
With arms too weak to embrace his child his deep-set eyes engulf her in grateful warmth.

“Wipe my mouth;”
his further loss of strength and increase in pain makes his demand curt, cutting deeply into her soul.
The young nymph feels the stinging rebuke in his command but concedes to his demand:
The day has been long, making his old tongue short.

“Wipe mouth!”
The exhausted sprite reels in shock from the stinging slap of his command:
The life-giver, the father, her alpha, now wrapped in impotence, wracked with pain, writhing from uncertainty delivers searing stripes to his faithful daughter.
With heavy heart his mouth is wiped with the gentle caress of ephemeral butterfly kisses.